The medical facility at Dortmund's training ground never seemed duller than now. It had a sterile efficiency that only existed in places where human bodies were reduced to data points and diagnostic codes.
Six hours had passed since the final whistle at the Allianz Arena, six hours since Jude Bellingham had collapsed to his knees in exhaustion and triumph, six hours since Luka had been carried off on a stretcher with tears streaming down his face.
Now, in the antiseptic quiet of the MRI suite, time moved differently. Each second stretched like taffy, marked only by the rhythmic mechanical breathing of machines that saw through flesh and bone to reveal the truth beneath.
Luka lay motionless on the scanning table, his body positioned with clinical precision by technicians who spoke in hushed, professional tones. The machine around him whirred and clicked, its magnetic field painting pictures of his injury in shades of gray and white that would determine his immediate future.
This was the fourth scan of the evening. CT first, then ultrasound, now MRI, with X-rays sandwiched somewhere in between. Each procedure requiring different positions, different breaths held, different instructions delivered in accented English that sounded increasingly distant with each repetition.
The ceiling above him was standard medical facility beige, punctuated by fluorescent strips that cast everything in harsh, unforgiving light. He'd been staring at it for what felt like hours, memorizing the patterns in the acoustic tiles, counting the tiny holes that dotted their surface like inverse constellations.
His phone lay on the side table, silent and ignored.
The screen had lit up dozens of times throughout the evening—messages from teammates, family, journalists, agents. Mendes had called twice, probably already working his network of medical contacts, arranging consultations and second opinions and all the machinery that surrounded a potentially career-altering injury.
But Luka couldn't bring himself to look. Not when the weight of what had happened was still settling in his chest like sediment in still water.
The technician's voice crackled through the intercom, tinny and distant. "Almost finished, Mr. Zorić. Just a few more sequences."
He nodded slightly, though he wasn't sure if they could see him. The hip joint that had felt so wrong six hours ago now throbbed with a dull, persistent ache that pain medication had reduced but not eliminated. Every small movement sent reminders through his nervous system—warnings written in the language of inflammation and damaged tissue.
Through the small window that separated the scanning room from the control booth, he could see Dr. Braun conferring with the radiologist, their heads bent over a computer screen displaying images of his pelvis in cross-section. The older man's expression was unreadable, professional neutrality masking whatever conclusions were forming in his experienced mind.
The machine fell silent with a final, definitive click. The scanning was complete.
"All finished," the technician announced, and Luka felt the table begin to slide back out of the machine's embrace. "You can relax now."
Relax. The word felt foreign, almost absurd.
How do you relax when everything you've worked toward might be contained in the digital files that were now being analyzed twenty feet away?
As he was helped back into his tracksuit—Dortmund's yellow fabric feeling strange against skin that had been prodded and positioned and examined for hours—Luka's mind wandered to thoughts that had been circling since the moment he'd felt his hip give way.
All of it. The endless meetings with Mendes about transfer options, the parade of clubs making increasingly elaborate offers, the constant calculations of wage packets and signing bonuses and image rights percentages. The Lamborghini Urus and Ferrari Stradale that had appeared in his garage courtesy of Saudi investment groups eager to showcase their generosity. The watch endorsements and boot deals and energy drink partnerships that turned every public appearance into a carefully orchestrated marketing opportunity.
When had it all become so complicated? When had football—the simple joy of ball against foot, of movement and creativity and shared triumph—become buried under layers of financial maneuvering and brand management?
He'd be eighteen in less than 6 months, but felt decades older. The weight of constant decision-making, of everyone wanting something from him, of every conversation eventually circling back to money or opportunities or strategic positioning for his "brand development."
Maybe this injury was the universe's way of forcing a pause. A chance to grow in mindfullness and self-awareness, to disaccossiate himself from the 'Luka' brand worth hundreds of millions of euros.
The thought was interrupted by Dr. Braun entering the room, a tablet in his hands and an expression that Luka had learned to read over their months of working together. Not devastating news, but not celebration either. The gray area where most medical reality existed.
"How are you feeling?" Dr. Braun asked, settling into the chair beside the examination table.
"Like I've been run over by a truck," Luka admitted, shifting slightly to ease the pressure on his right side. "And then scanned by every machine in Germany."
Dr. Braun smiled—the first genuine warmth Luka had seen all evening. The doctor had always treated him differently than the parade of specialists and consultants who spoke to him like a valuable asset to be maintained. With Dr. Braun, there were moments when the conversation felt almost paternal, as if he were talking to someone's son rather than a professional footballer.
"You should have come off when I told you to," Dr. Braun said, but his tone carried more concern than reproach. "Playing through that level of discomfort... it's precisely how small problems become bigger ones."
Luka looked down at his hands, still pale from the clinical lighting. "I thought we could finish the match."
"And how did that work out for you?"
Despite everything, Luka found himself almost smiling. Dr. Braun's dry humor had been a constant over the season. Always cutting through the drama to focus on the medical reality.
"So," Luka said, steeling himself for what was coming. "Give it to me straight. How bad is it?"
Dr. Braun set the tablet aside and leaned forward, his hands clasped. "I have good news and bad news."
Luka's stomach tightened. "Both."
"Bad news first," Dr. Braun said. "You're not getting an early summer break from the season."
Luka stared at him, processing the words. Not getting a break meant... "I don't understand."
"Good news," Dr. Braun continued, his expression brightening. "Grade 2 hip flexor strain with minor inflammation of the surrounding soft tissue. No structural damage to the joint, no ligament involvement, no signs of labral tears or bone stress injuries. Based on the imaging and your response to today's examination, I'm estimating two to three weeks for full recovery."
The words hit Luka like a physical force. He'd spent the last six hours convinced his season was over, that he'd be watching the Champions League semifinal against Liverpool from a hospital bed or rehabilitation center.
Well he still would.
The relief was so overwhelming that the thought flew past him, so overwhelming that for a moment he couldn't even speak.
"Two weeks?" he finally managed. "You're sure?"
"Technically, it could be up to a month," Dr. Braun said carefully. "But all the work you've been putting in with your personal physiotherapists, the prevention protocols, the attention to recovery—it's built a foundation that should accelerate your healing. The muscle tissue is responding well, there's minimal secondary inflammation, and your general conditioning is exceptional."
Luka felt tears building behind his eyes, but these were different from the ones that had fallen on the Allianz Arena pitch. Relief, gratitude, the sudden lifting of a weight he'd been carrying since the moment he'd hit the ground.
"However," Dr. Braun continued, his tone becoming more serious, "this is a warning sign. Hip flexor strains in players your age often indicate compensation patterns—your body adapting to stress in ways that create vulnerabilities. If we don't address the underlying biomechanical issues, this will happen again. And next time, it might be more serious."
Luka nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "What do I need to do?"
"The club wants you to see a specialist. Full movement analysis, gait assessment, strength and flexibility evaluation. But beyond that..." Dr. Braun paused, studying Luka's face. "Have you ever considered attending one of the elite sports medicine camps? The ones that focus on long-term athletic development and injury prevention?"
"I've heard of them. Are they expensive?"
Dr. Braun laughed, the sound echoing in the sterile room. "For someone in your position? The cost is irrelevant. We're talking about facilities that charge fifty to seventy-five thousand euros for comprehensive programs, but they can extend careers by years. Some of the best athletes in the world spend their off-seasons at places like Aspetar in Qatar or the specialized centers in Germany."
Luka shifted on the examination table, testing the limits of his pain. The idea of dedicating serious time and resources to understanding his body, to optimizing every aspect of his physical preparation, appealed to him in a way that surprised him.
"I'll go," he said without hesitation. "I'll pay for it myself. Whatever it costs."
Dr. Braun raised an eyebrow. "You're sure? These programs are intensive—detailed assessment, customized training protocols. You're entire life will be surrouned by it during your injury. It's a significant investment."
"My body is my career," Luka replied, the words coming from a place of clarity. "If I'm going to do this at the highest level for the next fifteen years, I need to do it right."
Dr. Braun nodded approvingly. "Smart thinking. I'll make some calls, get you connected with the right people."
As the doctor gathered his materials and prepared to leave, Luka felt something shifting inside him.
"Dr. Braun?" he called as the older man reached the door.
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For treating me like..." Luka searched for the right words. "Like a person."
Dr. Braun's expression softened. "That's because you are a person, Luka. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise."
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@FabrizioRomano -🚨🟡 Luka Zorić injury update confirmed: Grade 2 hip flexor strain. Borussia Dortmund medical team estimates 3-4 weeks recovery Liverpool semifinal participation doubtful for second leg. #BVB #UCL
@MarkGoldbridge - Absolutely devastated for the lad. Been saying for months he looks knackered - carrying that Dortmund side on his shoulders. Sometimes the body just says "enough." But 3 weeks? If they reach the final, he could still lift that trophy. Mental.
@JakeHillFooty - People calling this a "minor injury" clearly haven't been watching. Luka's been playing through discomfort multiple times this season. This was inevitable. Sometimes your body forces you to listen.
@TomAllnut - Bayern fans applauding him off tells you everything. Even rivals recognize what we're watching. This kid has broken football this season and I'm not sure we fully understand it yet. Get well soon, Luka. The game needs you.
@OptaJoe - 📊 LUKA ZORIĆ 2021-22 SEASON:
• 43 games total
• 34 goals
• 30 assists
That's SIXTY-FOUR goal contributions. At seventeen. In his first professional season.
@ChampionsLeagueStats - Zorić's Champions League knockout stats:
🏆 4 games played ⚽ 8 goals scored
🎯 4 assists 🎯 2 free-kick goals 📈 2.0 goals per game in knockout rounds
@Bundesliga - THREAD: Records Luka Zorić has broken/is chasing this season 🧵
1/ Youngest player to score 15+ Bundesliga goals in debut season (previous: Götze, 18y 4m)
2/ Most goal contributions by U18 player in BL history (30 in 26 games)
3/ Only teenager with 25+ goals across all competitions in Big 5 leagues this century
4/ Youngest to score 8+ knockout goals (by 2 years)
5/ Most goals by U18 in single CL campaign (9 total)
6/ Youngest hat-trick scorer in knockouts
7/ Most goals by teenager in single WCQ campaign since Pelé in 1957.
@FootballAnalyst_ - The Ballon d'Or conversation is getting interesting. Current season leaders in goal contributions across Europe's top 5 leagues:
Benzema (Real) - 59 contributions
Lewandowski (Bayern) - 56 contributions
ZORIĆ (Dortmund) - 53 contributions*
Mbappé (PSG) - 52 contributions
Salah (Liverpool) - 49 contributions
*domestic only, 64 including internationals
A 17-year-old is 3rd in Europe.
@Bundesliga - Zorić is currently:
📊 3rd in Bundesliga goals (15)
📊 1st in Bundesliga assists (15)
📊 1st in BL goal contributions (30)
📊 1st in CL knockout goals (8)
📊 1st in CL knockout contributions (12)
📊 1st in free-kick goals across all comps (5)
@Fabrizio Romano - Injury won't affect summer interest. Sources at Real Madrid, Man City, Liverpool confirm Zorić remains "absolute priority" regardless of 3-week layoff.
@TalentWatch - Perspective check: What other teenagers have achieved 60+ goal contributions in a season?
Answer: Literally none in the modern era.
@EmmaWhyte - Can we talk about the fact that Dortmund's title chances might now depend on whether a teenager can recover from injury in two weeks? The pressure this boy has been under all season... it's actually insane when you think about it.
@Kola35 - Seeing all these "could a 17-year-old win Ballon d'Or" takes... the kid's third in Europe for goal contributions behind Lewandowski and Benzema. AT SEVENTEEN. IN HIS FIRST SEASON. If Dortmund win the Champions League, it's not even a debate anymore.
@JennaOrtega - The fact that Liverpool fans are celebrating this injury on my timeline is actually so gross…
@DanielKing - People asking if Luka's achievements are sustainable. Mate, he's 17. He doesn't need to sustain this level, he needs to surpass it. The scary thing isn't that he's this good now, it's what he could become with five more years of development.
@Liams1 - Just did the math on Luka's Champions League knockout stats:
4 games played (vs PSG, Chelsea)
8 goals scored
4 assists provided
That's averaging 3 goal contributions per knockout game. Messi's career CL knockout average is 1.2. Mental.
@JordanCampbell - Liverpool just went from facing the most dangerous teenager in world football to facing... Julian Brandt. No disrespect to Julian, but that's like going from facing prime Messi to facing Ashley Young. Massive advantage for Liverpool now.
@JASJEL- Football's cruel irony: the player who's given us the most joy this season might miss its climax. But perhaps that's fitting. Luka Zorić has already proven he belongs among the greats. The rest is just details.